Keep On Laughing
by DemonUntilDeath
Summary: He laughed when it hurt. He laughed when it didn't. He laughed when he realized no one else was laughing. But it didn't stop him because, for now, it only hurt when he laughed. And eventually, it wouldn’t hurt at all. Wolfram-centric. Yaoi.


_Disclaimer_: I do not own Kyou Kara Maou.

_Notes_: This is just a fun (translation: angsty) drabble that popped into my head.

- o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o -

_**Keep on Laughing**_

- o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o -

It hurt when he breathed.

In the beginning, every minute of life was an existence of sheer pain. Every gasp of oxygen gathered, every stretch of his lungs, every release of a breath tormented by sorrows, everything became a thousand knives stabbing him. Stabbing him over and over again – stabbing him in the back.

It hurt when he breathed because it hurt every moment of every day.

Eventually, his breathing became less of a burden, less of an atrocity which was greeted by dark thoughts and painful memories. Happy memories. Eventually, it only ached when he breathed and hurt when he spoke. His throat had constricted long ago, leaving nothing for the air, the drawing of which no longer pained him, to enter through. He couldn't talk. Wouldn't for days at a time. His chest would burn as his diaphragm tightened. His pulse would quicken, his heart caught between panic and pain.

What happened if, one day, he stopped breathing?

His body would freeze, muscles tightening from the lack of air. His heart would beat faster and faster and his mind would fall into panic. A fuzzy, unidentifiable craze would settle over him until all he could do was hyperventilate, crushing a pillow to his chest and praying it would pass. Adrenaline would finally kick in and send his now-frail form into brief spasms.

If he didn't pass out, his body would recover shortly and leave him fine. Panting, sweating, with tears rolling down his cheeks and moon-shaped nail marks in his palms. But fine.

Eventually, he found talking easier. His throat only ached now and again. His breathing had completely returned to normal. It only hurt when he walked. His feet took him places he didn't want to go – places with memories and fears and emotions. Places with people he no longer wished to see and lives he only wanted to pass faster and faster.

His head would get dizzy if he walked too much. His calves would burn and thighs would ache. He could feel the creaking of his ankles as every toe that pressed into his boots bled with over-use. His skin felt dry and cracking, his nails begged to bleed. His muscles would shake as his legs struggled to keep him against the forces of gravity.

He never fell. Not in front of the people his feet took him to. Not in the places where memories made him dizzy.

Eventually, the pain in his legs faded to an ache. He found his voice easier to use, despite its new deep and scratchy quality. It only hurt now when he smiled. Every fake expression he forced across his face. Every happy moment when he wasn't happy.

The muscles in his face were stretched, loose and unable to form anything real anymore. They would only function when required and never when wanted. His teeth ached. They bled in their gums. Or at least he thought they did. Perhaps the metallic taste that filled his mouth came from every bite his clenching jaw delivered to his tongue. The muscle had become so swollen that words would catch on their way out. Often when he tried to use his voice, he'd find his tongue thickly attached to the roof of his mouth, absorbing and depriving him of saliva until his mouth felt like a linens closet.

That, too, eventually faded. His smile became numb, no longer paining him. Like his legs that had healed and his throat that had loosened and his lungs that now filled with the fresh morning air.

Now it only hurt when he laughed.

He laughed when His Majesty made a joke. He laughed when Gunter collapsed from repeated blood loss. He laughed when he spun Greta around in circles in the evenings. He laughed when Anissina turned Gwendal's skin blue.

He laughed at the Bad Omen birds that seemed to always be in the sky.

Most of the time, he laughed when he didn't feel like it. He laughed because he could no longer feel his smile and wasn't sure if it was there. He laughed because he knew that sooner or later, he wouldn't know if he was laughing anymore.

He laughed the hardest when he watched His Majesty and Weller together. He laughed because his 'little big brother' knew how his king felt about him. He laughed because Yuuri knew it too. He laughed at what he knew the two partook in when they thought no one saw. When they thought no one knew. He laughed because of the irony and the pain and the numbness.

And he would keep laughing. He'd kept breathing, kept speaking, kept walking, kept smiling. And he could keep laughing too.

Because, for now, it only hurt when he laughed. And eventually, it wouldn't hurt at all.

- o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o -

_**Keep on Laughing**_

End

- o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o -

Hope you enjoyed and please review!

**Author's Notes:**

_This is from Wolfram's point of view about the pain he felt over the months after he discovered Yuuri and Conrad were in a relationship of sorts. I wanted to do one where he doesn't leave, where he lives with the secret. So the descriptions – bleeding feet and gums, for example – were an exaggeration in Wolfram's mind. He's comparing what the pain actually feels like._

**End Author Notes**


End file.
